


Matty lives at 505.

by a_cruel_cruel_girl



Category: The 1975 (Band)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Cute, Depression, Flirting, Fluff, Gatty, George is a stoner, M/M, Marijuana, Matty is a tired motherly dog owner, Mattys a little bit depressed, References to Depression, neighbour
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-08 03:10:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12855459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_cruel_cruel_girl/pseuds/a_cruel_cruel_girl
Summary: Matty and George are neighbours. Annoying neighbours. Matty's dog Allen, is constantly barking and whining especially at 4am, but George is always stinking the apartment floor up with marijuana.In which George sends a drawing and note to Matty telling him to shut his dog up and Matty retaliates by sending an equally vicious note back, causing them to meet and awkwardly flirt.Saw this idea on Instagram and changed it too fit George and Matty





	Matty lives at 505.

Matty lives in apartment 505, everyday he comes home and sits on his ratty sofa that has been chewed to bits by his lovable dog Allen. While sitting there he most usually contemplates life although that is far to introspective for this story, so on a today like today he instead grumbles in his head about the rotten smell of drugs that is floating across the apartment from his neighbour’s place.  
It’s not like Matty has never done drugs, or has anything against them in a singular concentration however he never referred to himself as a particular stoner, besides maybe when he went to uni and smoked 78% of the time, but now he rarely even touched cigarettes. That was in fact a lie, Matty likes smoking weed, likes smoking but in a recent depression has rather felt unmotivated to move from his introspective sessions on his ratty black sofa that is definitely falling apart. Yet Matty still can’t find the motivation to find a new sofa.  
Motivation is definitely something Matty lacks.  
As the tendrils of smoke erupt from George’s mouth in the lounge that lays dramatically parallel to Matty’s, he hums to himself, the haze starting to hit.  
Mathew can smell the rather intoxicating hindrance of narcotics and frowns upset at his neighbour for disturbing him, although George has no idea at that moment he is doing anything to offend the poor boy.

Matty’s POV

They never told me when I was younger that I’d lose motivation, maybe not everyone does but what on earth do you do when you can’t be asked, can’t even think to do anything. It’s like my limbs have simply melded into this tacky sofa that I got off of ebay for £50. Allen scrabbles and bites, the furry material that vaguely wraps the architecture of the sofa, lets out a violent buzz as the fabric tears and rips beneath Allen's white animalistic teeth. I let out a sigh, and then a groan before calling Allen over.  
Pulling him onto my lap, my arms cascade around his tiny form and I say in the most ridiculous baby voice “No, Bad Allen” But it’s an empty threat that holds no promise, probably why Allen continually does it day in, and day out.  
Allen just looks up at me with wide baby eyes, and then promptly curls up on my lap. I chuckle softly, the first remnants of laughter on my tongue for a long while.  
My hands wrap around Allen as I stroke and pet the little, well rather large dog that's now fallen asleep. I definitely use this as an excuse to not move, I just sit and think, eventually falling asleep without eating, without brushing my hair or changing. The motivation that i once had, sunk deep into my bones and now was non existent. 

Along the lines of 3am, Allen shuffles and scuffles, whining at me. He begins to cry when he sees that I am no longer asleep and not giving him attention but am in fact leaning silently with tears in my eyes. Motivation didn’t seem to be the only thing I lacked. After 10 minutes, I’m broken out of my trance, “Allen” I say as if consulting the dog. Immediately he looks up at me stopping his efficient moaning, he patters towards me his feet pulling at the carpet slightly as he steps forward. “Silly doggy” I say to him in that ridiculous baby voice, tears tracking my face. Why am I like this?  
I finally stand up after what must've been hours of sitting on the god darn ratty sofa, I feed Allen and then I go to bed. In my actual bed this time, motivation giving some of its essence for those few steps.  
I don’t sleep particularly well, the light of the moon from the window and the smell of weed, that had been comforting and annoying me in the lounge now seemed lovely in compare. Now drug free and wrapped in cotton, I couldn’t seem to get comfortable. Apparently the uncomfortableness of the previous situation was a positive cognitive state. 

-

As I walk through the front door, I’m met by a neatly folded up note that is hanging out the letter box. As I unfold the clearly torn out from a notebook, letter, I let my mind wander as to what it could be as it obviously wasn’t anything official. A sharpie has evidently leaked through the sides of the paper as a sarcastic drawing of Mickey Mouse with his middle finger up is scrawled on the bottom right of the lined paper. Alongside a note which reads: Dear 505, you’re dog has woke me up at 4am every night this week, please shut it the hell up. Love 504 xoxo  
The only thing matty can possibly think is “What a dickhead” 

As I further into my apartment I let the bit of offensive paper flutter onto the sofa as I once again fall into place. This time today though the seems to be a slight drip of motivation that devours me for at least an hour before I find myself walking to my 

 

bedroom. The wallpaper is tearing at the edges and it smells of damp but he buries himself in finding a notebook. Once found he pulls the green covering off of the book, it’s pressed and printed with a Uni logo which he once attended. Next he has to find a pen which proves to be more difficult but eventually he finds one down the back of his unmade bed. 

-  
Matty takes the black biro pen that has a slightly chewed off end and begins to doodle. His mind meanders and he ends up drawing a cartoon version of LCD Soundsystem’s singer James Murphy beheading 504’s Mickey Mouse. Again also with a message, “504, I think it’s all the Marijuana smoke coming from your apartment, that’s waking and baking for you, Sod off, 505.”  
Matty smiles at his drawing giggling to himself. The happiness rinsing him inside and out before the once again depressed feeling circulates him. He had always loved LCD Soundsystem specifically the song “All My Friends”. “This song, it makes him think about life, it makes him think about death, it makes him think about friends past and present and it’s kind of everything to him. He has rinsed this song all along his career – technically, emotionally, and he thinks that with an unabashed freedom because he realises that if he wanted to do it, it needed to be as good as this. It needed to be funny, it needed to be self-aware, it needed to be beautiful, it needed to be culturally aware, but it also worked as a piece of pop music in the way that great pieces of pop music do.”

Matty sighs inwardly towards himself, before standing up and walking towards his neighbours to deliver this unruly message. 

-  
The same routine smothers him. Get in from work, sit on the sofa and fall asleep or into somewhat of a trance and wake up at 3 or 4am to Allen crying at me from the lack of attention. He had no idea why Allen kept crying because he wasn’t in pain or hungry, he just seemed to keep wanting his attention, Matty didn’t get enough sleep anyway and Allen keeping me awake at the few precious hours he usually fell asleep for was starting to wind him up.  
It’s no different today, when he wakes up and looks down at his phone it read 3:24 luckily today is in fact a friday, so he isn’t too bothered to stay up however it doesn’t stop him grumbling as Allen whines. Matty pulls the silly dog onto his lap and starts cooing the blessed animal.  
But then a sharp noise echos throughout his bland apartment, the sound of someone shoving something into his letterbox. This queues him to stand up and fetch it intrigued in his fazy brain as to what it is. It’s only when he sees a clearly ripped out of a notebook paper letter, that he realise it’ll be from my neighbour complaining again. 

Another ripped up piece of notebook sits in Matt’s hand has Allen jumps around below him, skittish and excited about the mail. “Shut up you weird dog.” Matty says in a calm voice, Allen snuggled further into the crook of Mattys skinny legs presuming the calm voice was a compliment. Matty just shakes his head, letting his curls unfurl as he unfolds the shitty note. This note instead has a drawing off the decapitated Mouse holding his own head, with the crude note basically telling him Allen was a fat dog and that he was pretty sure Matty’s not even allowed to have a dog. 

It was true, Matty wasn’t supposed to have a dog but the landlord really didn’t give a shit, which is why he presumes, 504 the pot smoker was still allowed to live here. 

Matty slunk into the bed allowing Allen to climb on aswell and snuggle into his chest as he fiddled with his dogs ears. Wondering how on earth he could reply to the strange man who he had no idea of the name of, that lived next door. Matty sighed eventually lost in some other thought and tried to push himself to sleep. Once Matty wakes up in the morning he realises the note had coerced him into falling asleep and not staying up any later, thankful yet still annoyed at his neighbour he stands up to make some coffee and make another note. 

It takes Matty a couple of tries, and Allen chewing on the perfectly good one, for Matty to come up with the perfect note. He stands sipping another mug off coffee paired with a chocolate digestive, proud of the note he’d come with he realises with a twinge that he’s actually maybe a little bit happy that his neighbour decided to complain about Allen, Matty is sure that if the neighbour actually met Allen he’d love him. 

The note lay on the table whilst Matty got ready for the day, the first time he’d actually spent time getting ready instead of just getting in the shower and throwing anything on. The note is a drawing of the singer James Murphy in his band's shirt, with a microphone and a plethora of instruments in the background, a thinking bubble above his head is the silhouette of mickey mouse taking a hit from a bong. The singer hold a note saying “APARTMENT RULES! NO WEED” Matty wasn’t particularly artistic but over the couple of tries he thought that this looked really good. 

Matty had pulled on a shirt which wasn’t wrinkled, some clean black jeans and his hair was down, soft curls falling in his face, his usual purple bags under his mocha eyes weren’t so prominent this afternoon after getting 9 hours sleep. Matty grabs the coffee off of the table and drinks it down in one go, with a sense of determination he grabs his keys and the note. Stomping out the front door, he realizes too late he will of woken up Allen, sure enough he hears the barking through the door. 

He mutter “oops” under his breath before looking at the note one final time before folding it jaggedly in half. He strolls up to 504, his slight anxiety making his heart race as he raises his hand and knocks on the door timidly. He hums a small tune trying to tell himself “stop being so nervous” before the door opens. 

Matty is greeted by a tall man with bleach blonde hair, although the roots have grown out. The man quirks up an eyebrow, confused at the stranger. It was weird that in all the time they’d both lived there, which was 2 years for Matty, it seemed crazy they hadn’t bumped into each other. Although Matty only left for his work in the morning and at the time the man was still asleep from being stoned in the early hours of the morning. 

Matty held out his hand, “Matty.” The man looked at him curiously, “George…?” He says hesitantly, unsure of why the boy is outside his door. Matty wasn’t ever ashamed of his sexuality, and was so evident about the way he looked George up and down, that it actually made George a little insecure, because he too thought this “Matty” was very pretty. George was slightly muscled along with his big build, and from what Matty could see of his apartment was quite messy like Matty’s was. 

“504 here’s your note” Mattys aid with a slight quirk of the mouth before turning around marching back to his apartment with his chin held high, his heart rate was elevated at the way George had looked at him. Matty was also very good at reading people and was almost 100% sure that George had also given him the eye. George stood with his mouth agape. He wasn’t quite sure how to react, when he’d sent the first note he’d been high and slightly drunk, causing his usual relaxed self, to become irritated and obnoxious. He’d sent the note without thinking and when he’d had the reply he’d only laughed knowing it was true that he had no point to call out Mattys dog when he smoked pot constantly. 

He now was happy he’d sent the stupid note though because he felt the sudden need to pursue Matty’s friendship and hopefully something more. George made his way back into his apartment, seeing how atrocious it was, slightly embarrassed that Matty might of seen the mess. He scampered over to his kitchen counter which was covered in crumbs and half eaten take away food. He shuffled it out of the way before opening the note. 

He laughed at his neighbours creativity, the same man from before standing with a no weed sign. Although this time it caught his eye because the character was wearing merchandise of a band he liked. Upon closer inspection and the use of google images, he realised it was supposed to be James Murphy with all of the musical instruments in the background. 

“This guy has a good music taste” George mutters to himself before hearing the distant bark of Matty’s dog, almost as if it was agreeing with George. 

George then started to wonder if Matty sung, he had heard the boy sing a little bit through the walls but his voice was nowhere near as loud as his dogs. George vaguely looked at his open computer with some remixes he was working on and his drum kit which sat in the corner. He decided it’d be interesting to talk to Matty about more music, or anything really but he guessed music could be an excuse.

George sat down at the bar stall that sat at the kitchen counter and began to roll a spliff. Taking his time whilst he thought of what he could say back to Matty. Once he’d rolled he decided he’d grab some paper and a pen before he smoked up. Grabbing the spliff and Matty’s note he slunk into the small sofa chair he owned, not having enough space for his drumkit and a big sofa. He grabbed the notebook and collection of pens which he’d left on the side table from the previous night and wrote:

“You like LCD Soundsystem?  
Truce.  
Wanna hang out next weekend and listen to some music, I have Sound of Silver on vinyl?

P.s: we could order take away (Stoner.)  
P.s.s: You can bring your stinky dog.”

George then lights the end of his roll up whilst breathing in. Taking a breath of the narcotic, he relaxes for a while whilst smoking it until the high lightly hits. Then he grabs his pen and draws Mickey Mouse with his head sewn back on. A couple of dog bones sit in corner as an invite for his dog.


End file.
